Chapter Four (Written by the Oh-So-Lovable Jin SatoshiWho feels incredibly browbeaten by Rei's dang-guut writing skills. Darn.
The Doctor, or how Skinner liked to call him 'Quack', walked slowly down the unbelievably busy main street of London. Past the vast Art Gallery, and then the substantially sized Museum that he liked to call home, more current matters distracted his thoughts. Henry Jekyll was beginning to feel incredibly perturbed about being around the Head Quarters, tense feelings threatening to implode the very air they breathed. Some strange silent battle was raging between Mina and Rodney, well; it was silent from what he could see. And Tom, well... Tom wasn't very good company when it came to discussing science or the arts. He was far more interested in his new novel, which Jekyll was beginning to become a little nervous of.
The tall, gangly man stopped a moment, careful not to be caught in the dreary crowd that passed him. Running a hand across auburn hair, he readjusted his hat, peering up at the sky as soft droplets of rain began to fall, not long after forming into intense rain. He pursed his lips, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, and began a quick-paced power-walk towards the nearest alley and shelter.
With a sigh, Jekyll entered the mouth of the alleyway, which was more of a tight lane than anything. The roof above was defeating most of the rainfall, and Henry hurried along, careful not to slip on the now slick cobblestone. As he rounded the corner, however, everything seemed to halt.
An arm glad in a grey sleeve shot out, condemning Jekyll's fate, the palm slamming against the cold wall in front of him. Dorian Gray leaned upon it, smirking darkly from beneath dark ebony locks. Henry felt his breath catch, shock flooding his veins, numbing his body, even Edward, the beast inside his heart, was seemingly afraid.
"Tsk, tsk... what is a weakling like you doing wandering about the back ways?" Dorian spoke with an edge, lips barely moving. He shifted closer to Jekyll, who in return edged back, a soft snarl growing upon his ever-innocent features.
"Gray... You... you traitor... what are you... doing here...?" Dorian's smirk expanded at that, stormy eyes flickering with intense amusement. Jekyll was far more fun to harass than Skinner.
"Visiting old friends." He muttered, moving forward again, though this time, his other arm moved out to block Jekyll's other way, pinning the other man to the wall. Jekyll held his ground, half-surprised himself that Hyde was yet to appear. He pulled back, pressing himself as far as he could against the wall, forcing himself to stand straight and face Dorian like a man.
"How quaint." Gray snapped, and painfully slow, leant forward, nose just brushing against Jekyll's own. The smaller man let out a squeak, though it was cut short, a sudden thunderous rage fighting to be set free from his heart. Gray chuckled, breath warm against Henry's cold skin, and as swift as any dove, his hand swung back, unhooking his already unsheathed cane from his side. Jekyll's head had sagged, shoulders shaking, the anger inside him about to erupt. Dorian sneered, chiding the other man with a soft whisper.
"Tsk, tsk... I suppose my friend Rodney passed on my little message?" Dorian launched a brow, and leant even closer, their cheeks almost touching. Jekyll's shoulders shook, willing for Edward to appear and save him once more. But nothing happened. Gray's ever-youthful features barely even creased with a darkened smirk, his lips brushing tenderly against Henry's skin. Mere seconds later, however, his sword was whipped forward, swiftly embedding in Jekyll's gut. Henry let out a choked gasp, neck jerking back; Hyde was too late. Dorian's smirk faded slowly, and he twisted the blade slightly, watching as tears welled in the corner's of Jekyll's eyes.
And that was when the bullet hit. Dorian's body was snapped to the side, a soft haze fleeing across his silver orbs, and he slowly regained his composure. A deep bullet wound was scarring his shoulder, crimson rivulets slipping from the incredibly large, gaping hole, mingling with the soft rain, and soon joining Jekyll's blood on the ground.
"Get your dirty paws off him, Gray." A thick-accented voice spoke, obviously American. Dorian pursed his lips, his wounded shoulder shaking slightly as the skin bend, moulded, mending itself leisurely. He turned to face the arrogant form of Tom Sawyer, standing, gun still aimed at Dorian's chest. With a swift twitch of his hand, Dorian had yanked his sword from Jekyll's gut; the weakly unconscious man soon slipping to his knees, and then to his site, sprawled in foetus form in his own blood.
"Paws? What kind of language is that, Agent Sawyer?" Dorian's gentleman-like voice accented against the word 'Agent', almost in a sneer. Tom thrust his gun backwards, a loud, resounding click echoing across the walls of the alley as the menacing weapon was loaded. Dorian's bullet-wound had healed by then, and he rolled his shoulder, neck cracking as he did so.
"Shut up, Gray, you turncoat. C'mon, bring it. Let's fight." Sawyer lowered his gun slowly, and instead pulled out a long, dirk-like knife, the blade slick and metallic, in great contrast with Dorian's bloodied one.
"If you feel like dying, Sawyer." Gray replied easily, and moved forward, sword flashing to knock the gun from Sawyer's hands. However, the young Spy was fast, and managed to move out of the way, slashing with his own knife at Dorian's neck. The Immortal leant backwards, the knife missing it's mark, and instead kicked out, booted foot easily connecting with Tom's stomach. The boy was sent stumbling backwards, and pulled his gun up immediately, finger jerking against the trigger, the shot ringing out amongst the silence again. A flock of pigeons rose from the rooftops above, crooning, wings flapping in a panic. Dorian quirked a brow, and looked down at the other hole in his chest, seemingly un-amused. He looked up slowly, features staying belittling towards Tom, and he walked forward gradually.
"You can't kill me, Sawyer. You know that." Tom took a hesitant step back, though his hands didn't shake. Jekyll shifted a little, hand pressing against his bleeding stomach, the brave man trying to stand to protect his friend.
"He can't, but I can." Another voice rang out, a black cloak blew, and in mere fleeting seconds, Doctor Mina Harker swept around Dorian, fangs protruding in a vicious smirk. Silver eyes followed her every movement, watching every tilt of her elegant neck, every strand of chocolate that drifted away from the high-held bun.
"Hello, lover." She stopped in her circling, dark tan eyes staring straight into Dorian's soul.
"Don't flatter yourself, Mina." Dorian replied, voice oddly smug, yet still hinting an air of ice. "So, it seems we're all here. Oh, except for a few... The Captain?"
"South Pacific." Mina replied, as if they were having a chat over tea.
"Mr. Quatermain?" Dorian continued, a slight smirk on his lips.
Mina didn't answer this time, she just stared loathingly.
"Oh... and of course, my dear friend... Mr. Skinner?" Dorian chuckled faintly, silver eyes darting to a space down the alleyway, where, Invisible as he was, Skinner stood.
"Never mind." The Immortal inclined a soft shrug, gaze returning to Mina. "He seems to be here, too."
Tom had edged slowly towards the bleeding Jekyll, standing protectively in front of his friend, though the barrel of his gun was still pointed at Dorian, who acted completely oblivious to the American's movements.
Skinner watched silently. He had been there the entire time. He had seen it all. But he wasn't going to do anything. He just... stood there. And stared.
Mina didn't bother to waste her breath on Dorian, and the Vampire swept forward with an elegant grace, the two Immortals beginning an equally matched fight immediately. Wilhelmina knew she couldn't kill Dorian. For that, she needed his painting. That's why she had a different plan in mind. Gray shot his sword forward, but Mina dodged, agile as a cat. He struck forward again, parrying, and moving backwards, the Vampire managing to score a high kick across his face as he let his guard down for less than a second. Dorian grunted a little, and brushed a hand across his cheek, slicing the air viciously with his blade, and drawing a thin line of crimson from Mina's collarbone. He smirked, but then blinked as Mina pulled something from her pocket. Everything moved quickly, Dorian could barely keep up.
"Tom!" Mina had shouted, launching the small objects to the young man. Dorian snapped his head to the side, moving to intercept them, but the spy caught them first. Gray glanced briefly to the American, and then to Mina, sword lashing out again to cut the female's stomach. In those brief seconds of ignoring Tom, however, the boy had loaded whatever Mina had thrown him into his gun, and cocked it, aiming perfectly for Dorian's back. Gray cocked a brow, turning a full spin, still caught in the momentum of his slash at Mina, when Tom fired. Whatever it was thudded into Dorian's chest. He blinked a little, feeling no pain, rather a tingling, numbing sensation.
"You learn a few things when you hang out with an expert hunter." Tom chuckled, voice ridden with smug smarminess. Dorian reached a hand up, delicate fingers touching the hole in his chest. Something was wrong. His legs... numbing. Vision... blurring, silver eyes hazing over. He groaned a little, the world splitting in two, the poison shooting through corrupted veins like a virus.
Skinner stared. What had they done? What had they done to stop an Immortal?
Dorian dropped to his knees, legs unable to hold him any more, and slowly slipped to his chest, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, fusing with the blood-soaked ground.
And then all went dark.
---------------------------------------------------
His vision came first blurry, figures warping and making shapes painfully slowly. A fire flickered before him, and light-headedness threatened to force him back into the dreamland. However, as Dorian Gray awoke, the figures of the League started to unblur, appear in front of him. Mina was sitting silently on a large plush chair, her cold eyes on Dorian. Tom stood by the window, though seemed not at all sad. More triumphant. Jekyll must have survived. Dorian almost snarled with discontent, when his eyes rested upon the new figure leaning against the wall of the fireplace. He was tall, with a dark, curled beard dropping from a well-defined chin. A turban sat atop his head, and Gray narrowed his eyes immediately. Nemo. Everything suddenly jerked back to him in a rush, however. The last thing he remembered was being shot once more by Sawyer.
Tranquilliser darts. They're mocking me. Dorian thought with an inward growl, fingers curling about the arms of the chair. There was someone behind him, too, he could sense it, but his attention was soon drawn to a more serious matter. Mina had noticed his small, drowsy movements, and turned her head to face Dorian as he tried to stand from the chair, only to be caught in his tracks. Gray pursed his lips faintly, arms moving not an inch, bound down by a thick rope to the armrests.
"You've turned... a little barbaric... haven't you, Mina?" Dorian hissed through grinding teeth, frustration and anger boiling his blood a little. A chuckle came from behind him, and the soft swirl of expensive sherry in an even more expensive glass.
"Or just kinkier." Skinner.
"Skinner. Shut up." Mina flared her eyes towards the thief, who instantly went silent, smart enough not to mess with the vampire when it seemed like she was going through PMS. She turned to Dorian, fingers curling at the sight of her ex-lover.
"Where is your painting, Dorian? We searched for it, but it seems that you have hidden it extra well." Mina elevated a soft brown brow, Nemo lifting his head to watch Dorian quietly, Tom also turning around from his position at the window, smirking smugly at Dorian. Gray returned the smirk, silver eyes glittering with vehemence. They obviously had not looked in his secret trap door, where only his most beloved belongings were kept.
"Mn... you perceptibly didn't look hard enough, I'm afraid." Dorian replied, an air of arrogance in his tone. Mina pursed scarlet lips, eyes narrowing sharply.
"Tell us, Dorian." She spoke as if she would shove an iron pike in Dorian's eye just to make him talk, but of course, the League didn't do that. Yet.
"After that dart, it seems my memory's been a little dodgy. Sorry, lover." Gray smirked darkly.
Hours passed with Mina, then Tom, followed by Nemo, but not Skinner, all trying to persuade Dorian in different ways to tell them where the portrait was. Tom even offered to shove his gun up Dorian's-
Marth: Just... shut up.
Anyway, the League members finally gave up for the night, and Tom and Nemo swept silently from the room, leaving Mina to talk with Skinner in hushed whispers. That was, until Skinner let out a cry of pure horror.
"You've got to be bloody KIDDING! Me? Stay here and guard him? Over my twitching dead body, Harker." Skinner snapped, voice lowering slightly as he did so. Dorian tilted his head around a little, still bound to his chair, brow lofting as he watched Mina and Skinner from the corner of his eye. The two argued for a while, until Skinner lost with a spectacular slap across the face, and he turned, sulking back to sit in the chair beside Dorian. Gray smiled to him as he did so, eerily, and in obvious amusement. Rodney grumbled a little, lighting a cigar he had found in Dorian's drawer, gaze flicking every now and then to the immortal in the chair beside him. Such an incredibly awkward silence met the two after that, and both simply stared at the flickering fire, Skinner growing fidgety.
This would be a very, very long night.
And Dorian would make it as hell as possible.